


Our Head Cold (instead of Our Mojo)

by Oshii



Series: I Have That Effect on Women ;) Lucifer H/C Prompt Fills [20]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Cold, Deckerstar - Freeform, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, F/M, Fever, Grocery Shopping, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Late at Night, Post-Season/Series 05, Sick Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Sickfic, Vulnerable Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26350852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshii/pseuds/Oshii
Summary: Post-s5, established Deckerstar. Lucifer has a stuffy nose and a raging sinus headache, all kinds of clammy and gross. Vulnerable!Lucifer, sick Lucifer, caring Chloe, late night grocery shopping, domestic fluff, H/C.“Here.” Chloe’s voice was low, quiet, hovering somewhere above his right ear, and before he could crane his neck to respond, a cool heavy washcloth was draped over his forehead and eyes, and the blessed damp weight of it was so soothing Lucifer tilted his head back with a low moan. He felt her fingertips land lightly upon his temples; they were also cool and slightly damp from the running water in the bathroom sink. “How’s this? Better?”“Oh…” he moaned, unable to suppress himself as her steady fingertips pressed gently into his aching sinuses, rubbing tiny acupressure circles where she knew he had to be hurting. “Skilled enough to pull a hair trigger, soft enough to soothe. Incredible,” he breathed, lips parted in awe.Chloe smiled warmly, the exhaustion of caring for her sick daughter melting into warm satisfaction at tending to her sick devil. “Just one of my many talents".
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: I Have That Effect on Women ;) Lucifer H/C Prompt Fills [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505822
Comments: 4
Kudos: 183





	Our Head Cold (instead of Our Mojo)

**Author's Note:**

> Slight implied spoilers for season 5 - the title is a play off 5x07, "Our Mojo", in which Lucifer and Chloe discover an unanticipated and very interesting side effect of their deepened intimacy. This super-short fic, as most of my self-indulgent Lucifer fics do, takes that element of celestial vulnerability and runs with it. Domestic Deckerstar sickfic FTW! <3

**Disclaimer: Leaving Las Vegas and Nic Cage references = no copyright infringement intended.**

**\--**

It was 11:14 PM, on a Thursday, and the lights of the grocery store were way too bright. 

Lucifer scowled in distaste, right eye squinting slightly as the ache behind it throbbed, exacerbated by the violent fluorescent ceiling bulbs. His whole face throbbed, actually; his sinuses were warm to the touch, tenderness stretching painfully across his cheekbones, congested and irritated like he’d done way too much blow (only without the perk of any residual high). 

“Damn,” he muttered, sniffing back another wad of ill-timed snot as he pushed his cart to a stop. Aside from the mandated cold medicine and bourbon (synonymous, in his opinion), he’d remembered Chloe’s half-finished grocery list sitting on the counter proclaiming they also needed milk, eggs, bread, butter, cheese, avocados, cilantro, and organic tomatoes (that was underlined). So, a basket man above all else when it came to his grocery shopping, Lucifer had been coerced into pushing around a cart like a middle-aged mom running errands, the cherry atop the sundae of joy that was his Thursday evening. 

Insufferably mortal head cold aside, of course. (It appeared that the burgeoning vulnerability harbored by his increased intimacy with Chloe was good for things other than losing his mojo). That, and apparently the Detective’s spawn needed to wash her hands more often, or pick playground friends with better personal hygiene during autumn flu season.

“Bollocks.” Lucifer sighed, leaning over onto the handle of his cart and rubbing the bridge of his nose with mounting agitation. His headache throbbed a dull rhythm, and he sniffled ceaselessly, Alka-Seltzer having had no effect on his symptoms, because evi-fuckin-dently, his celestial metabolism had slowed down enough to let him get sick, but not enough to allow any over-the-counter medications to offer any relief! How bloody novel!

There was one package of Nyquil left on the shelf, and Lucifer swiped it into the cart with a hasty sniff and rather uncouth clearing of his throat. At this point, he really couldn’t care less. He knew he looked like hell – uncharacteristically disheveled, hair mussed, sleeves rolled up, suit jacket spread across the cart because he’d suffered yet another feverish hot flash in produce, clammy sweat prickling across his chest and staining a dark line between his shoulderblades. He reminded himself of Nic Cage in _Leaving Las Vegas_ , without the courtesy of a devoted hooker by his side. 

By the time he’d paid for all his shit and headed back to the house, his throbbing headache had intensified to the point of pattern breathing, and he grimaced at every stoplight, fervently wishing he hadn’t volunteered to be so goddamn thoughtful tonight. 

Chloe had left the door unlocked for him, a small blessing for which he found himself quite thankful as it meant he didn’t have to balance grocery bags and house keys upon his triumphant return. 

“I’m back,” he called hoarsely, forcing a taut smile for his girls as he entered the breezeway. “Dipenhydramine and dairy products in hand.”

“Shh!” Chloe hissed, emerging from the hallway with a finger raised to her lips. “Lucifer, I love you, but I _just_ got Trixie back down and if you wake her, I swear—” Then, she stopped, and her brow furrowed deeper, wariness dissolving into concern with a soft sigh. “You look like hell.” 

“Relax, Detective,” Lucifer soothed, or tried to, because in his current state his charm was rather lacking, and it showed immediately. Wordlessly, Chloe took the bags from him, set them on the kitchen counter, and returned hastily to rest the back of her hand across his forehead, startling him into silent submission. 

“Lucifer, you’re burning up!” She declared, voice little more than breath. “Oh, babe. Here, sit down. I’ll be right back.”

He sank gratefully down into the couch cushions, obeying without protest as she whirled and hurried back down the hallway. With a wavering sigh, Lucifer closed his eyes and wearily brought a hand up to massage his temples, overwhelmingly relieved at the chance to sit down. He hadn’t realized just how sick he was until just this very moment, and it hit him like a ton of bricks. Humanity, he decided, was woefully overrated. 

But, that soft little _oh, babe_? Was enough to make even his infernal heart flutter happily, through even the congested sinus headache and shivery fever ravaging him alive. 

“Here.” Chloe’s voice was low, quiet, hovering somewhere above his right ear, and before he could crane his neck to respond, a cool heavy washcloth was draped over his forehead and eyes, and the blessed damp weight of it was so soothing Lucifer tilted his head back with a low moan. He felt her fingertips land lightly upon his temples; they were also cool and slightly damp from the running water in the bathroom sink. “How’s this? Better?”

“Oh…” he moaned, unable to suppress himself as her steady fingertips pressed gently into his aching sinuses, rubbing tiny acupressure circles where she knew he had to be hurting. “Skilled enough to pull a hair trigger, soft enough to soothe. Incredible,” he breathed, lips parted in awe. 

Chloe smiled warmly, the exhaustion of caring for her sick daughter melting into warm satisfaction at tending to her sick devil. “Just one of my many talents,” she murmured, pressing a kiss into his hair, inhaling softly the familiar warm smell of him – hair gel, expensive cologne, imported cigarettes, fresh aftershave, _Lucifer_. 

“I’d better go put that milk in the fridge,” she sighed after several more minutes of massaging. “It’ll spoil.”

Lucifer, rendered gleefully, bonelessly delighted by fever and her gentle ministrations, could only huff a small chuckle in response. “The only thing spoilt around here is me,” he declared. “By the best partner anyone could ever ask for. D’you still want that chicken soup I promised?”

Caught off guard, having completely forgotten about Lucifer’s Chicken Soup from Ol’ Scratch, Chloe laughed, letting her fingers slide away from his face to land on his shoulders, bracing herself to lean over and plant another kiss on the bridge of his nose. “No, babe. It can wait. Rest.” 

“Can do, Detective,” he mumbled, sighing once more as she got up and left, not despairing because he knew she’d return. “Can do.” 

  
  



End file.
